Code Redhead - A Serial Novel
Page 53
I’d expected him to have put on the show for the sake of the children, but the grimace on his face was far too genuine. His eyes met mine, and the confusion in them was clear. The pain had been real.
And so it started—the bruise and lump. A quick visit to the doctor’s resulted in tests and a referral to the hospital. No worries; these things happen. Further tests followed, but when the phone call came, one day later, we were completely unprepared to deal with the news. It was a Friday afternoon. The phone on my desk rang. I stretched an unwilling hand toward it then lifted the receiver.
“Honey, are you able to listen for a minute?” my husband’s voice burst right through my stock greeting.
There was an edge to it I didn’t like. My mind quickly jumped to the worst case scenario.
“Something happened to the kids?”
“No.”
“Are they all right?”
“Yes. Wait. Listen. The results came back.”
I met his words with silence.
“They want me in on Sunday. Surgery is scheduled for Monday morning. I’m first on the list.”
More silence, and then the penny dropped. Gasping for air, I assured him of things I couldn’t possibly know, but merely hoped for. “It’ll be all right. You’ll be all right. I’ve got you. Coming home now.”
The urgency of the appointment didn’t spell good news, but at least we didn’t have long to worry. Cancer was something we’d learned was affecting many people, even if it hadn’t touched our small family unit until that point. Swiftly following the several-hours long surgery, we got the report: cancer of the lymph system. They had removed lymph nodes from groin to armpit, both sides of the body, together with a lump the size of a sub roll, and adjacent muscle and affected tissue. This left a massive hole in the lower abdomen, which in turn required covering up. The docs had cut off part of the right thigh flesh and muscle, and swiveled it in place so that it covered the affected area. The remaining muscle in the right thigh had needed a skin graft, to make it look somewhat more normal and protect it from infection.
The domino effect on our lives was devastating and humbling at the same time. I discovered nursing skills I wasn’t aware I possessed. The children turned into healing angels, and their love and devotion was almost impossible to grasp. Work colleagues were understanding of my changed and sometimes unpredictable schedule. Childminders rallied around us, and an army of friends I didn’t know I had overwhelmed me with their attention and thoughtfulness.
In time, wounds healed, the hospital appointments became rarer, and the children still played silly kiddie games with their father. We started to relax. Then, one day, I got a letter that should have been standard. Instead, it began, “The results of your latest smear test were abnormal…”
Ella Medler is a U.K. author and editor who lives in a corner of Heaven, on the south-west coast of Ireland, overlooking the Atlantic. She writes fiction in many genres — some after her own tastes, and some to make her readers happy. Sometimes, those two happen to coincide.
A fierce supporter of genuine talent, Ella Medler founded Paper Gold Publishing, a modern-day publisher with old-fashioned values, because she believes there are authors out there who deserve a chance to shine, authors who would otherwise fall between the cracks of a crumbling, forever-shifting industry.
As an editor, Ella Medler has the tendency to nit-pick on plot issues while ignoring the type of rule that doesn’t allow for a sentence to be finished in a preposition.
Ella Medler is active on all social media platforms, so all you have to do to find her is Google her name. She’d like to hear from you, whether you are a reader, a fellow editor or author, or another player in this publishing game.
Drop her a line via ellamedler@gmail.com
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